The sky is blue
the clouds pure white
it is, I think,
a lovely sight
 
the breeze is slight
and quiet sits
upon the landscape
birds do flit
 
there’s beauty all
around and yet
it cannot pierce
my deep regret
 
it cannot calm
darkening mind
it cannot leave
sorrow behind
 
the black abyss
is always there
and joy and grace
are found elsewhere
 
for here am I
my frame is bent
I am all dross
without a vent
 
and if I could
be something new
I’d be a single
drop of dew
 
I’d sit upon
my blade of grass
one single morn
is all I’d last
But I am man
and yet remain
throughout the day
within the pain
 
So I pen rhyme
plan my escape
to quietly
evaporate.